


A Dwarven Companion

by SailorBryant



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bilbo Remains In Erebor, Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, Courtship Fail, Culture Shock, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Poor Bilbo, hobbits are homophobic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2018-08-29 08:54:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8483230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorBryant/pseuds/SailorBryant
Summary: Bilbo thought he knew his dwarves quite well, but he finds out that even after all the time they've spent together there's still a few things he has left to learn.  Like, why in the world Thorin was suddenly avoiding him?





	1. Surprises

**Author's Note:**

> My first Hobbit fic, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Mind the tags.

“Bilbo.”

Hearing his name called, the hobbit’s head popped up from the report he was reading. Balin was standing in the entrance, an understanding smile on his lips, and Bilbo was sure that it was not the first time the older dwarf had said his name.

“Oh! Balin, my apologies.  I was just going over these crop estimates.” The last remnants of snow were finally melting away from Erebor's slopes, and the men were starting to leave the mountain and begin the restoration of Dale, and more importantly, to begin to tend to its fertile farmland.  They’d survived the harsh winter through the generosity of Mirkwood and limited supplies brought over on multiple trips from the Iron Hills, but spring was finally here. Caravans would be arriving from dwarf cities across the continent soon, filled with dwarves returning home or for new opportunities and while there was plenty of work to go around food was another matter.

Bilbo, though, fancying himself knowledgeable on this subject at least, had done his best to help where he could.

Balin chuckled. “It’s no problem.  How are they looking?”

He placed the reports down, slowly standing up from his desk. A crick in his shoulders let him know that he’d probably spent far too long bent over it. “Not awful. As long as Thranduil delivers on his end of the agreement, and the caravans arrive unmolested, I see no issues.”

Balin nodded. “That was my opinion as well.”

“Goodness, where are my manners. Let me get you a cup of tea,” Bilbo said suddenly, already heading towards his small kitchenette. “I’m out of sugar right now, unfortunately, would just cream be alright-”

“Actually, Bilbo, Thorin sent me to fetch you. He has something to show you.”

Bilbo stopped in his tracks, delight filling him suddenly. He turned to Balin, clapping his hands together, and not fighting the smile that broke across his lips. “Finally! Is the secret project done with, then?”

Balin’s eyes widened in surprise before he chuckled. “You knew?”

“Subtle, you dwarves are not,” Bilbo told him.

He adjusted his bracers and straightened out his waistcoat, before sliding his jacket off the back of his chair and slipping into it.  Running his hands through his curls, he stretched his arms out, presenting himself for Balin. “Am I presentable enough for his Majesty?”

“Perfectly presentable,” Balin confirmed around a chuckle. He stepped back, holding the door open as Bilbo walked out.

Bilbo slowed when they reached the hallway, letting Balin lead the way, as they navigated the stone entrenched pathways.

“Have you already discovered what the surprise is, then?”

“Of course not,” Bilbo said with a huff. “We hobbits enjoy surprises tremendously. I would never want to spoil it!” He gave Balin a look. “Even though it would have been tremendously easy to do so.”

Balin sighed. “Thorin thought he had been rather stealthy.”

“I guess we’ll just keep it between ourselves then,” Bilbo told him, with a wink, and Balin smiled.

When Thorin had first started avoiding their luncheons Bilbo had just assumed that the King’s schedule had become a bit overbearing.  It wasn’t until he began to beg off their nightcaps as well that he began to suspect something was up.  The curious behavior of the rest of the company only made his suspicions grow, and by the time he had eavesdropped on a conversation between Nori and Bofur in the library about ‘Thorin’s secret project,' it was only the final nail in the coffin.

Balin filled him in on the latest reconstruction work, while they wandered out of the guest quarters that Bilbo had taken for himself.  They were built for visiting elves and men, far too large for Bilbo, but he had made due.  Thorin and the company had insisted Bilbo take a room in the Noble Halls with the rest of them, and Kili had even hinted that there was room in the Royal Hall that could be his, but Bilbo had graciously declined.

It not only felt like he would be overstepping in some manner - a Hobbit from the Shire rooming down the hall from royalty, it was unheard of - but the rooms he had found were far closer to Erebor’s entrance.

He could handle a too large bed and standing on stools to reach his sink to be that much closer to the sun above him and grass between his toes.  He knew that if he decided on staying in Erebor past the summer his living situation would have to change, but they would do for now.  

Balin had just begun to inform him of the progress on the only currently open mine when Bilbo realized they were passing the entrance that led to the library.

“Oh, I,” he piped up, before shaking his head. “Nevermind.”  

Balin gave him a curious look, but Bilbo waved him off.

While Bilbo had not actively sought out the nature of the secret project, that hadn’t stopped him from making his own guesses.  He had caught the company, and the King himself, on more than one occasion sneaking in and about the small part of the library that was left accessible, and Bilbo had been nearly sure that the ‘secret project’ was revolved around its ongoing reconstruction.

Yet, they continued on, leaving the library further and further behind, and Bilbo found himself more and more excited for the discovery of the nature of the 'secret project'.  His mind tossed and turned possibilities around so quickly that he almost didn't notice that they had entered the Noble Halls.

When they passed through them quickly and straight on to the Royal Hall, a crinkle appeared on Bilbo’s forehead, and when they passed by Kili’s room, then Fili’s, then Thorin’s he frowned.

“Balin,” he started hesitantly, and the older dwarf just chuckled.

“We have arrived, Mr. Baggins,” he said suddenly, stopping before a door just down the hall from Thorin’s room. It was stone like the rest, the frame made of silver and lined with dwarven runes.

“Whose room is this?” he asked.

Balin ignored him and pushed open the door. Bilbo's frown deepened but he still followed him inside.

No longer was Bilbo the simple minded hobbit who measured his days in birthday parties and letters for tea. The road to Erebor had changed him for certain, hardened him. While he would always be a Hobbit from the Shire, who enjoy comfort and good food over anything else, he still felt leagues away from the hobbit who fainted dead to the floor after hearing the word incineration.

Which is why he even shocked himself when as soon as he entered the room, he let out a loud, surprised gasp.

The room inside was dwarven, obviously, carved stone walls and sloping ceilings, torches lining the walls, and an archway instead of a door separating the main sitting area from what looked like a short hallway.

Everything else, however, was very hobbit-ish. The floors were wooden, not the cherry oak of his own Bag End, but a dark pine that was gorgeous under the flickering light of the torches and felt like heaven under his bare feet.  The couches and chairs were soft and the colors bright, nothing like that hardbacked furniture he would suffer through in his friend’s quarters. Ornately carved bookshelves lined the right wall, a gorgeous tapestry depicting a sapphire filled mine hung from the only empty space between them. Only a sparse few books sat on the shelves, but various carved statues and toys lined the empty space.

There were bright, soft looking rugs of many colors, and a knitted throw lay over the back of the couch. A writing desk sat against the back wall, larger and of finer quality than the one in his current quarters, already covered with a brand new ink pot and quill.

When he finally noticed Thorin, standing to his left, with Dwalin, Bofur, Kili and Fili beside him, he let out an unintelligible sound.

“He can’t even speak,” Fili laughed.

“That’d be a first,” Dwalin grunted.

He ignored them, walking in a daze through the sitting room and through the open archway to explore. The hallway was short with only three doors, and a long, thin burgundy rug ran the length of it. The door on his right led to a bathroom, still very dwarven in its nature with its granite floor leading to a large marble lined tub in the center. He caught a glimpse of a bed through the door at the end of the hallway, but it was the archway to his left, leading to the kitchen that caught his eye first.

Brightly painted cabinets surrounded the walls with a stove and pipe leading up and out through the ceiling, a gorgeous pewter kettle already hanging inside. A large oak dining table, enough to seat at least six, sat in its own little alcove, and Bilbo was in awe of it before he noticed the curtains.

He gasped again, his throat burning with all the emotions he could barely contain, as he realized the curtains covered a small window just behind the table.  Another one was over the sink and he closed his eyes suddenly. Overwhelmed.

“I was wondering when you’d notice the windows,” chuckled Bofur, suddenly behind him.

Bilbo spun around, a thousand questions fighting to burst forward.

“What,” he choked out though that wasn't what he truly wanted to say.

Bofur ignored him, placing a hand on his shoulder to steer him back towards the sitting room. “You haven’t even see the best part, yet!”  

Bilbo let himself be led along, moving automatically as his eyes still tried to take in every detail of the room. Another two curtain covered windows lined the left wall behind the company, and Bilbo couldn’t believe he had missed them before.

He tore his eyes away from the little details of the room to finally meet Thorin’s eyes.

The King gave him an amused smile, and Bilbo felt his heart began to race. As it did sometimes when Thorin looked at him.

“Thorin,” he choked out, and the dwarf’s smile turned softer. “What,” he started, but once again was left speechless, air rushing from his lungs as he suddenly noticed what Thorin was standing in front of.

A large, round, green door.  

“No,” he whispered in disbelief.

“You found the best part,” Bofur chuckled.

Bilbo looked back and forth between Thorin’s barely there smile and Kili’s toothy grin. “I don’t understand.”

“Lad, I’d have thought you'd have known what a door is,” Bofur teased.

Bilbo huffed. Some of the heart-stopping awe faded as he quickly said, "Don’t be daft you know-”

“Now don’t get yourself all worked up!” Bofur interrupted, pushing Bilbo forward as Thorin slid out of the way.  “At least take a look outside first.”

“Outside?” Bilbo exclaimed, whipping his head around to see Thorin’s smile and twinkling eyes before Bofur was pushing open the door.

The sudden light from outside nearly blinded him for a moment. Bofur pushed him forward again, but he held his ground firmly. His instincts were crying out - weren’t they on the side of a mountain? - but once his eyes adjusted, however, he was finally able to see what lay in front.

It was a terrace. As large as his yard in Bag End, but carved straight into the mountain.  A beautifully carved stone banister ran the length of the opening, and a foot or two back from it four stone pillars ran up from the floor to merge with the roof. They didn’t impede the view, however, of a gorgeous sloped valley and the beginnings of a treeline that Bilbo knew spread out to become Mirkwood.

Unconsciously, he took a step forward and immediately closed his eyes to stop himself from letting out a very undignified sound.

There was dirt beneath his feet. His toes clenched and unclenched in the soil, feeling it pebble through them. It was slightly damp; not too clumpy, but not too fine either.

It was perfect.

“We did not seed the grass yet,” Thorin said gently, suddenly close by, and Bilbo’s eyes shot open. The King stood in front of him, a tentative smile on his lips, and Bilbo embarrassingly wondered how long he’d been standing there in a silent awe. “Bard’s man informed us there were various types of breeds that you might like to choose from. He mentioned, also,” Thorin’s lips quirked a bit as he added, “that you might enjoy watching it grow.”

Bilbo covered his mouth with his hand, worried about the gibberish that would undoubtedly spill from his lips if uninhibited.

“Plus!” Kili piped in, sliding his arm around Bilbo’s shoulder and turning him away from Thorin’s gaze and back to the terrace. “We thought you might like to turn some of it into a garden.”

Bilbo heard Balin and Dwalin speaking, no doubt teasing him, but their words were distant and unimportant. All he could see was the stone bench nestled between two of the pillars, begging to be surrounded by hanging baskets and covered in soft pillows. His eyes followed the path of the flat stones laid atop the dirt that led from the bench back to the wall he was standing beside. Four glass arboretum’s, the size of bookcases, were placed between the windows - “Windows!” his mind cried- ready for Bilbo to line them with plants during the winter.

He let out a choked sound from behind his palm. “This is,” he started, before trailing off to look once around once more.

“I think he likes it,” Fili jeered, and the dwarves laughed.

Bilbo caught Thorin’s amused grin once more. “Thorin,” he whispered, slowly lowering his hand and stepping towards the dwarf. He was only vaguely aware of Kili’s arm sliding away. “This is,” he tried again, before he trailed off again, looking up at the King helplessly.

“I know you were planning to travel back with Gandalf when he returned in the summer,” Thorin said softly, replacing his grin for something a bit more serious. “I would never keep you from your home, but I would have you know that your presence here has been precious to us. I would not have my home without you,” his smile reappeared as Bilbo tried to wave him off, and gripped the Hobbit’s small hand with both of his much larger ones. “We would not have our home without you, Bilbo Baggins, and you should know how very honored we would be if you would consider staying.”

“Thorin,” Bilbo started softly, but Thorin continued.

“It is not a decision to be made now, of course. Durin knows when the wizard will grace us again with his presence, but I ask you at least consider it. Until then, however, I was hoping that you would stay in these rooms. If they are to your liking, that is,” he finished with a smirk.

Bilbo quickly cut off his own chuckle before it could turn too hysterical, lifting his other hand up to grip their clasped hands. “Thorin,” he said in nearly a whine. “Windows, Thorin. There are windows.”

Thorin chuckled. “Yes, well spotted.”

“I just,” Bilbo started again, his voice deep with emotion. “I just can’t believe you would do all of this for a friend.”

It was so quick, and if Bilbo hadn’t been staring directly at Thorin intently he would have missed it, but Thorin’s expression tightened for a moment. His eyes crinkled as if in pain, his half smile faded, before fixing back into place as it had never happened.

Bilbo’s next words caught in his throat, puzzled over the King’s reaction.

What had he said?

“Of course, Master Baggins. As I said, they are yours if you wish. Unfortunately, I now must beg your leave.  I have duties to intend to that cannot wait.”

"O-of course," Bilbo stuttered out, watching as Thorin's hands slipped from his. Balin and Fili were wearing matching frowns as they watched the King walk out without a backward glance towards the hobbit, Dwalin on his heels. Balin at least nodded towards Bilbo before he followed them back inside as well.

“Come on, Bilbo,” Bofur said cheerfully, appearing at his side. “You haven’t even seen the bedroom, yet.”

Bilbo nodded, shaking off his confusion to gave Bofur a smile. “Of course, lead on.”

“And then we can start packing up your old rooms,” Fili said, while Kili cheered.

“Now, I never said I agreed to the rooms,” Bilbo teased.

“Don’t be like that, Bilbo. We all know you love them!” Kili said around a laugh, lifting the back of his hand to his forehead, before crying out mockingly, “Windows, Thorin!” and swooning back into his brother’s arms. Fili laughed loudly, and even though Bofur looked away Bilbo could still hear him fighting back laughter.

Bilbo gave them an unimpressed look, before finally chuckling himself.

“Well, yes, they are quite impressive.”

Bofur thumped him once on the back while they quieted their snickers.

“I still can’t quite believe you all did this,” Bilbo told them, earnestly.

“It was Thorin’s idea,” Kili said purposefully, sharing a look with his brother.

“We all helped, though,” Fili chimed in quickly.

Bilbo frowned. “But weren’t they all busy with the restoration?”

“Yes, but we dwarves are not just toilers, y'know,” Bofur explained, taking Bilbo by the arm and leading him back through the green door, Fili and Kili on either side of them. “We take pride in our craft. We’re not meant to spend our every waking hour lifting rock after smashed rock. It was a great relief to all of us to have a chance to actually create something.”

“And the men helped with the inside,” Kili pointed out, waving his arm to show off the beautiful wood floors.

“Not like they had much else to do with Dale covered in snow,” Fili said with a laugh.

“Still,” Bilbo said softly, his eyes trailing over the room. “It’s far more than I deserve.”

Fili moved in front of him, catching Bilbo’s gaze, and holding it. “Please, Bilbo. You deserve the world for what you have done for us. This is the least we could do.”

Kili and Bofur were nodding along in agreement, and Bilbo couldn’t quite help the tears that welled up in his eyes.

“Oh, all of you are just-”

He was cut off as the main door burst suddenly open, and Bombur barrelled through, Bifur running in behind him. “Oh no, we missed it,” Bombur said as he panted and huffed, face bright red with exertion.

“Don’t worry,” Bofur said gleefully, “he was just about to start the waterworks.”

Bilbo huffed, insulted, but Bombur nodded. “Oh good,” he said, before collapsing onto the closest sofa.

The dwarves all broke into a round of laughter, while Bilbo did his best to push down the tears that had been threatening to well up.

Dori and Ori swept into the room only moments later, giving their own apologizes for their lateness, and immediately inquiring into his appreciation of their selection of materials for the furniture.  This led the other dwarves into pointing out what part of the room had been their idea: Bifur gesturing wildly at the ornately carved bookshelves lined with toys, Bombur explaining in detail the way he had fought to keep a reasonable layout to the kitchen; Bofur pointing towards the windows and giving a wink.

Fili and Kili roared in disagreement, claiming the windows were everyone’s idea, and a good-natured argument began.

Bilbo had to take a few deep breaths before he could calm the sudden gratefulness that was threatening to overwhelm him. It was one thing to know that the Company wanted him to stay in Erebor - as he’d told Balin, they weren’t exactly subtle - but it was another to see first hand the trouble they had all gone through to keep him.

There was no denying that the rooms were magnificent. He was slightly confused by their location, however.  They were not only in the royal quarters but appeared to share a wall with the King’s room itself.  Far too high an honor for just a hobbit. Then again, he didn’t know much about carving holes into the sides of mountains. Perhaps this spot was the only one in the mountain that was structurally sound enough to allow it.

Next time he saw the dwarven King he would need to remember to thank him once more for the great honor. It had to have been a constant state of annoyance, having the construction going on just on the other wall of his own apartment.

He truly had the kindest friends.

“Thank you. All of you, thank you so much,” he found himself saying, and the arguing dwarrows went silent.  “And don’t worry about your tardiness, you’ve arrived just in time to help me pack.”

Cheers erupted between the group, Bifur slapping his thigh rapidly to join in the celebration.

“Come dwarrows, you heard the hobbit,” Fili said cheerfully, but with enough command into his voice to remind Bilbo fondly of the blonde’s uncle. “Up, up, we’ve got some useless trinkets to move,” he said, showing the other dwarrows out of the room.

Bilbo rolled his eyes, ignoring the prince’s jab about his belongings, and waved at them nervously. “No, no, please, all of you. I was just kidding. I can move my things myself.”

“Nonsense,” Bofur piped up, sauntering out the door, followed by Bifur who let out a guttural sound of agreement with his cousin.

“Oh no, really. After everything, this is just too much,” Bilbo tried again, frowning when Bombur huffed at him and sauntered out of the room after his brother.

“Don’t worry, Bilbo. I’ll make sure the books are packed properly,” Ori assured him as he passed.

Bilbo raised his hand weakly, feeling he was fighting a losing battle.

“Please, really. It’s quite alright-”

Dori snorted as he passed. “Why I never,” he mumbled to himself. “As if we would force you to move by yourself. My mother would be rolling in her grave if she knew I had let the King’s-” Dori’s words were cut off in a sudden wheeze of air from where Kili, in an apparent attempt to hustle him out of the room had elbowed him in the side.

“Come, Mr. Dori,” Kili cheered, dragging the gray-haired dwarf down the hall despite his protests at being handled so roughly. “We have dollies to pack!”

Bilbo frowned, turning to meet Fili’s smug grin. “I’m sure you have duties-”

“We made sure to have our evening cleared, just for this.”

Bilbo’s shoulders finally slumped in defeat, and he let out a sigh.  “It’s a shame Thorin couldn’t break away as well.”

It was only for a moment, but Fili’s face tightened just the way Thorin’s had earlier.  “Yeah, a shame,” he said, not quite meeting Bilbo’s eyes.

Bilbo frowned immediately, his eyebrows knitting together in frustration as he tried to think of what he was missing. Had he said something wrong again?

“Fili-”

The blonde shook his head, hooking an arm around Bilbo’s shoulders and dragging him towards the door. “I’m sorry, Master Baggins, but I won’t hear another word of protest about it.”

“But that’s not what-”

“We are your friends, Bilbo, and we’re going to help you whether you want us or not. We’d better hurry, though, Durin knows what trouble Kili has already gotten into.”

Thinking of the delicate books he had dug out of the partially collapsed library, and the ancient dwarven tea set and dishes that the company had gifted him with for Yule, Bilbo forgot all about the strange reaction of his royal friends, and picked up his pace, all but jogging towards his quarters. He hurried along hoping that a Dwarven packing song was not similar to their dish-washing song.

Or at least included less juggling.

Two weeks later, Bilbo found himself in Erebor’s hastily constructed public house, with a pint of ale tightly gripped in his hand. He had slid himself into an empty, darkly lit corner, his back to the door, and a hard stone bench beneath him. Being the only hobbit in a city of dwarves he didn’t have much hope of not standing out, but he still enjoyed the illusion of being tucked away, out of sight.

Still, he was not surprised when, only halfway through his first drink, his solitude was interrupted by the appearance of two dwarves.

“Evening, Bilbo,” Bofur said cheerfully, sliding into the bench beside him.

Nori gave him a nod and a wink as he sat facing him, taking a drink of his own pint.  

Bilbo sighed but greeted them both.  

“Sorry, I missed the great unveiling,” Nori told him with a grin. “I heard you blubbered through most of it.” He laughed merrily through Bilbo’s protests.

“Now, I wouldn’t say that,” Bofur teased. “There were only a few tears.”

“Oh now, if you are two are just here to harass me, there are plenty of empty tables you could find yourself at.”

They both waved him off, grinning equally mischievous grins.

“Don’t be that way, Master Baggins,” Nori said, while Bofur nudged his shoulder.

“Yeah, Bilbo, what’s got you in such a sour state. I thought you would be enjoying your new garden, instead of drowning your sorrows.”

Bilbo stiffened in his seat, diverting his eyes. “It’s nothing,” he assured them quickly.

Bofur frowned. “You still like your room, doncha?”

“Oh no,” Bilbo was quick to assuage, a dust of red tinting his cheeks in embarrassment. “It’s lovely! Truly lovely. There was just some finishing touches that needed to be done to the plumbing and I felt like I was just in the way while they were working.”

Which was mostly true.  There was a group of Iron Hills dwarves crowded in his kitchen and washroom, and after serving them all tea and a plate of biscuits he had certainly felt in the way.  None of them spoke a word of Westeron except to thank him for the refreshments and had spent the rest of the time talking amongst themselves in their own harsh sounding language. And if that wasn’t bad enough, he would occasionally catch the word for hobbit (one of the few words he knew in Khuzdul) and them giving him quick, covert glances.

He had quickly fled.

Still, it wasn’t his only reason for retreating from his own rooms for the crowded public house full of drunken dwarves.

It had been two weeks since the company had gifted him with his new quarters. That had also been the last time he had talked to the Dwarven King. He had thought that after the revelation of the ‘secret project’ Thorin would have immediately resumed their luncheons together or at least their weekly nightcaps that had begun nearly the moment the King had recovered from the Battle of the Five Armies.

Instead, even though he was now only a door away from the dwarf, he had only seen him twice since then. The first time being only the trailing of his cloak as it turned down a corridor and out of his sight, and the other from the opposite end of the crowded market while the King was surrounded by bickering guild masters. When the probability of a quarrel had finally lessened the King looked up and met Bilbo’s gaze. Thorin gave a quick nod, before giving his leave to the dwarves surrounding him and marching away, leaving Bilbo standing in the crowded market with his hand half raised in an aborted wave and a sinking feeling in his gut.

Bilbo was just desperate enough to speak to Balin and ask him about the dwarf’s sudden disappearance, or Dwalin even if it came to it, but the two dwarves had made themselves as scarce as their King.

Which is why Bilbo had wandered down to the public house, which he usually avoided, for the night. Hoping to catch either of the brother’s here and maybe pull the reason of Thorin’s sudden avoidance from their lips. He would even have been excited to see the two princes. Though he knew he couldn’t count on their discretion they would still most likely know about their Uncle’s behavior.  He would take any answer he could to calm his fears.

Would this just be the status quo now that Thorin was truly a King? Of course, he had his duties, but did that mean he would no longer have time to spend with his friend?

He shook his head. He was being silly, worrying over nothing. Thorin had probably neglected a few duties while working on his not-so-secret project and was now spending his free time catching up on them.  He deserved Bilbo’s gratitude, not a clingy hobbit moping about his absence.

Still, it would be nice to have those fears thwarted by Balin or Dwalin’s words.

“Bilbo.”

Bilbo jerked his head up to meet Bofur’s concerned eyes.  His face flushed as he wondered how long he had sat there, frowning at the table while lost in the same circular argument he had been having with himself for the last few days.

“Say, Bilbo,” Nori drawled suddenly before Bilbo could apologize, gazing at him over the rim of his pint. “You don’t have some lass back home you’re still hung up on, are you?”

Bilbo blinked at him, startled, and he heard Bofur choke around his ale.

“Nori,” Bofur said warningly, but the star-haired dwarf waved him off.

“What?” Nori asked teasingly, before turning back to Bilbo.  “I know you’ve said you’re not married, but I was thinking maybe it was more complicated than that.”

Bilbo shook his head vehemently. “No, no,” he stammered, his face still flushed with embarrassment.

“No lad either?”

Bilbo frowned, his expression tightening before he shook his head again. “I've never been married so I've certainly never had a son.”

An awkward silence lingered around the table, and Bilbo was more confused than ever. Bofur gave him a look that matched his own, while Nori was tight-lipped, and nodded as if confirming something to himself.

“That’s not what I meant, lad.”

Bilbo frowned.

“Well, then, Mr. Nori, you’ll simply have to explain yourself to this simple hobbit because I don’t understand what you’re asking,” he huffed.

Bofur was still giving him a strange look as if Bilbo was the one not making any sense. It was unsettling.

Nori gave him a tight smile. “You said you’d never married, Bilbo. So, you’ve had no wife,” he paused, his voice softening, “nor a husband?”

The blood in Bilbo’s veins ran cold. “I-I,” he stammered, his stomach sinking to the floor. After a moment he was finally able to push off the dread that had suddenly filled him and pulled himself together.

He puffed up, glaring at Nori. “I would have you know that besides all this adventuring business I am and have always been a very respectable hobbit. I may have never taken a wife, Mr. Nori,” stressing the dwarves name like a school marm telling off a particularly petulant student, “but being a bachelor at my age is perfectly accepted among Shire-folk and I would not have you casting nasty aspersions around about my character. I know you dwarves enjoy a good jest, but I find nothing funny in implying that I-that I myself would engage in such indecent acts.”

Bilbo paused only to take a breath, fully prepared to continue his dressing down of the dwarf, when he finally seemed to notice his companion’s expressions.

Nori, instead of contrite, or even affronted, was staring at him with understanding and a what seemed to be a large dose of pity. While Bofur-

While Bofur had the wide-eyed, pain filled look of someone who had just taken a fatal blow.

Before Bilbo even had the chance to think, the behatted dwarf’s expression blanked and then immediately filled with anger.  Too shocked to speak, the hobbit watched as Bofur stood suddenly from the table, turned away from them and stomped through the crowd and out the door without a word.

Panic filled Bilbo. Had he not denied the accusations well enough? Did Bofur not believe him? Bilbo’s face paled, as he whipped around to look at Nori, who was still looking at him with a sad smile and pity filled eyes.

Bilbo glared back at him. “Why did need to bring up that awful joke, now you’ve upset Bofur.”

“Oh no,” Nori interjected, laughing a bitter laugh under his breath. “He’s not upset with me. He’s upset with you.”

“Me? Why me?” Bilbo asked, his pulse beating erratically in his chest as terror filled him. He hadn’t denied it fervently enough, and Bofur now suspected him. Had gossip about him reached from the Shire to Erebor? But no, that was impossible, he quickly reminded himself. He had to have done or said something to make them suspect.

He suddenly remembered Thorin's pained look when he had called him a friend.  Had the emotion in his voice something in his voice led them to suspect? Is that why Thorin had been avoiding him? And now he had sent Nori to investigate.

Panic forced his throat to tighten. Bofur had been his first friend among the dwarves, kind and generous, and Thorin had been his closest.  He couldn't imagine a life where they hated him. Bilbo would just have to find them and reassure them that he was perfectly normal, thank you very much, and everything would be-

“Probably because he didn’t want to hear his marriage called indecent again.”

It took a moment for Bilbo to slow down from his panic-filled thoughts to truly register what Nori had said, and even then he still didn't quite understand. “He-what?”

Nori just stared at him, showing far more patience than Bilbo had ever thought him capable of. Then he sighed. “I started to worry this might be the problem.”

“So, you are telling me,” Bilbo continued as if he hadn’t heard him. “Bofur has a-” Bilbo stopped speaking, his mouth drying up as the words died on his tongue.

“A husband yes,” Nori said.

Bilbo took a deep breath.

“Well, had a husband that is. Poor lad died a few years before the quest. Cave-in.” Nori frowned. “I reckon that was why he volunteered so quickly to come along. Needed to get away, and all that.”

Even as he fought through his confusion, Bilbo’s heart filled with pain for his friend. He had never even know Bofur was married let alone widowed, but he still couldn’t quite comprehend what Nori was telling him.

“Nori, does marriage mean the same to dwarves as it does to hobbits?” he asked suddenly.

“Yes, Bilbo,” he replied rolling his eyes.

Bilbo opened his mouth, before promptly closing it again.

“Gender don’t matter to dwarves when it comes to love,” Nori said, slowly and gently, as if trying to coax a startled mare. “To find one’s other in life is a gift from Mahal himself. If he did not want us to find comfort in the same-sex he wouldn’t have made us capable of loving them.  It is so much a part of who we are  that I’m sure none of the others would even have thought to bring it up, but I’ve traveled around quite a bit more than most dwarves y’know? Spent more time in human towns and camps than any of the others for sure, and I know that some of them have some very different views than us. I could see hobbits being the same.”

Bilbo shook his head. “No, no. It’s just, simply not done.”

Which, Bilbo knew with a certain amount of panic, wasn’t entirely true. There were two widowed ladies who lived together on the outskirts of Bree who endured constants whispers from the folks of Hobbiton, though nothing improper had ever been proved.  

Then there were the Stoeger and Brandybuck boys who had been caught when Bilbo was still a teen and run out of town.  It was still brought up occasionally at the inn by someone in their cups, and everyone would grumble about the indecency of it.

And of course, being one of the most eligible bachelors in Hobbiton and never showing any inclination for finding a wife, Bilbo had been the recipient of many rumors himself over the years. It was unnatural, they had said.  For a hobbit with such a large smial and even larger fortune to keep himself locked away alone. Never answering the daily invitations for tea sent by all the mothers in the village only looking for a suitable match for their daughters.

Still, he had never let himself be anything other than respectable in every other matter and the rumors faded over time.  He was an oddity, for sure, but still decent folk.  

“What you saying is that no one cares that Bofur is,” Bilbo paused, staring at Nori as he floundered for the right phase.

“Nope,” Nori said. “Nor do they care about me either.”

Bilbo’s grip on his drink tightened, staring at the other dwarf, who was grinning at him.

“You?” Bilbo said, his voice hitching.

Nori shrugged. “Bofur’s always just been into the lads, but I’ve always played both sides if you catch my drift.”

Instead of replying Bilbo took a long drink of his neglected ale, if only just to take a moment to gather his thoughts but Nori wasn’t finished.

“Dwalin’s the same, as well,” he said around a smirk, and Bilbo nearly choked on his drink to Nori’s amusement. “Then Thorin, of course.”

Ignoring the way his heart was suddenly pounding away in his chest, Bilbo heard himself asking, “Thorin?”

Nori drummed his fingers on the table, looking troubled. “It’s not really my business to say. Let’s just say there was a dwarf and leave it at that. You can ask him some time and he can tell you if he wants you to know.”

After spending most of his life admonishing the entirety of Hobbiton for their gossiping ways he felt like the worst sort of hypocrite for how much he _needed_ to know about Thorin’s story.  Had it been unrequited love? Did he have a husband like Bofur who had passed? It made Bilbo’s heart ache to think that Thorin had suffered even more loss.

Fighting the urge to demand Nori tell him everything about Thorin right away, he found himself asking, “But why aren’t you upset with me? Like Bofur?”

“As I said, I already had my suspicions. Not to mention I’ve heard much worse from Men before.”

Bilbo slowly nodded, relieved. The guilt and shame at the look on Bofur’s face were still warring around inside him against the culture shock he was going through, and he was glad he hadn’t managed to ostracize another friend this night.

“Also,” Nori said, a small smirk on his lips, “I’ve found over the years that there can be quite a difference in words spoken because they’re expected, and words we actually believe.”

Bilbo froze, but Nori continued on. “I’m fairly skilled at reading people, Mr. Baggins. You have to be in my line of work,” he said, with a rogue-ish wink, “but like everyone else, I completely underestimated you at the beginning of our journey. I won’t be doing that again, I assure you.”

With a nod, he finished his drink and with a quick, “Night, Mr. Baggins,” he slid out of the booth and sauntered out of the public house with his hands in his pockets while whistling a tune.

Bilbo stared down at his half drunk ale and didn’t watch him go.


	2. Forgiveness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bofur talks, Bilbo listens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the lovely comments on the first chapter! Hope you enjoy this chapter just as much!

Bilbo’s hands shook slightly as he downed his drink. No longer wishing to speak to Balin or Dwalin - in fact, the thought made him slightly faint - he quickly made his exit, as well. He walked through the maze-like corridors in a daze, only vaguely paying attention to the curious looks he received. Embarrassment at his harried state would have to wait until later, after a good cup of tea. Or three cups, even. Maybe four.

Mostly, however, he just wanted to curl up in his new armchair and process his thoughts. And maybe after he’d stopped shaking he could gather enough courage to visit Bofur and try and salvage their friendship.

It was that thought most of all that got him back to his rooms quickly and without incident.

He moved automatically around the kitchen in order to make his first cup of tea, trying to keep the worst of his thoughts out of his mind. After getting the fire started and setting the water to boil, he tried pushing away his guilt about Bofur for only a moment as one major thought came to him.

How had this never come up on the journey? Gloin had waxed poetic about his wife on a near daily basis, and he could remember Fili and Kili having an ongoing argument about a dwarrowdam they had both apparently been attempting to court; albeit unsuccessfully on both their parts.

Kili had asked him one night about himself but after his admission that he was not married - and likely never would be - it was never brought up again.

Perhaps dwarves, outside of the young and married, weren’t ones to speak of their own courtship. If true, it would be an even greater shock to Bilbo then everything else he had learned this evening. Since dwarves, he had found, were rather open about everything else.

Bofur, though. Bofur, who had spent every night telling him stories of Ered Luin with it’s nearly bare mines and colorful miners.  He knew the names of every one of the dwarves who had been with Bofur the night he had found an undiscovered vein of iron - large enough that they were still mining from it a decade on, he had said - yet, he’d never known that the dwarf had been married.

Had Nori been married, as well? Or Dwalin.

Or Thorin. Bilbo clenched his counter so tightly his fingers turned white. Thorin, his greatest friend, with another dwarf. Another male.

It was indecent. That’s what he’d been taught since he was a fauntling. Unnatural and wrong and-

The kettle whistled loudly and he jumped. He quickly went about fixing a cup while, while shaking his head.

It didn’t matter what he had been taught, these dwarves had been his kindest and greatest friends.  He would finish his tea to help him settle his nerves and then he would search out Bofur and beg for his forgiveness.

He would think about why the thought of Thorin with another dwarf affected him so, later.

On the way to the Noble Halls, Bilbo planned out meticulously what he would say.  Even when he had been thought strange and unsociable, no hobbit alive had ever been able to say truthfully that Bilbo did not have a way with words.  The dwarves as well, once they had grown to know him, had often complimented him on the way he could spin a tale as well as any dwarf alive. Hell, he’d riddled with a dragon and lived to tell the tale.

The moment Bofur pulled the stone door back, however, his eyes cold and his lips set in a hard line, all of Bilbo’s grand words left him as quickly as he’d compiled them. He clutched his hand to his own waistcoat, right over his heart, and a sob broke quietly out of his lips.

“I am so sorry,” he said, his voice cracking. “Please Bofur, I am so sorry.”

Bofur’s expression softened. “Bilbo-”

“I know it means little,” he rushed out, finally recalling some of the speech he had planned, “but I have to plead with you the knowledge of my absolute ignorance to your ways.  You have to know I would never ever wish to hurt you in such a way, and I would-”

“Bilbo,” Bofur interrupted, louder than before. “Come in, please.”

Bilbo bit back a sob when he saw the small, but familiar, tilt to the dwarves lips, and eyes that showed the beginning of tears to match Bilbos. “I,” he began, but Bofur moved back to allow him in.

He was off footed by the sudden interruption of his emotional speech, but he quickly realized that he was probably making quite a scene in front of the dwarves room.  Thankfully the hallway remained empty, but his instinctual good manners had him stumbling quickly into the room before he could shame himself once more.

As soon as he was over the threshold, Bilbo began anew. “Bofur, please-”

“It’s okay, Bilbo,” he replied, and he chuckled softly when Bilbo frowned. “Nori tracked me down before you got here and explained a bit of it. You just didn’t know, I know you don’t think bad of me.”

Bilbo frowned further, looking down at the ground.

“Or did you?” Bofur whispered.

“You have to understand, Bofur, it’s not done in Hobbiton.  It’s not even spoken of in polite company. It is considered unnatural and the practicers of are not only shunned, but most often banished.  It’s simply the way of Hobbits and something that has been bred into me since birth.”

He could still remember his father’s face when the two boys had been run out town.  Bungo had come to him immediately as word spread about how Bilbo had been close friends with Brandybuck boy, a distant cousin. Bilbo had started courting Tilda Proudfoot the very next week just to stop his father’s worried looks. It had gone well over water, as all of Bilbo’s courting attempts did, but at least Bungo had seemed mollified.

Finally looking up to meet Bofur’s stricken face, he swallowed. The thought of two males, or two females even, together like that, it still was beyond his ability to comprehend.  He had been taught that love was all about young girls giggling while weaving flower crowns and boys blushing out stuttered declarations.  Anything besides that unsettled him.

The image of Dwalin giggling and weaving a crown of sunflowers flashed in his mind, and he had to fight to forget it.

Still, his affection for Bofur and the rest of the company was more than enough to let him put aside his own discomfort for the moment.  

Gather your courage, you silly hobbit, Bilbo told himself, and finally began to speak.

“Yet, I have never met a more kind and accepting people then you dwarves in all my life.  After our initial differences, all of you accepted me with more sincerity than I have ever known. We have shared our perils and triumphs together, and I have never felt such love and affection in the Shire as I have inside Erebor’s walls amongst my friends.”

Bilbo smiled, and Bofur matched him, hesitantly.

“I’ve never held such strong convictions against those my up bring would tell me are unsavory, no matter what my earlier words may have implied, I have simply carried on the views that have been repeated to me since this was always the way it was done. But, Bofur, if my Hobbit-ish ways tell me that there is something wrong with you for your persuasion, when I have found you to be nothing but the most truest of friends, well then,” he took a breath, “then my Hobbit-ish ways must be wrong.”

He knew he should have been rocked by the utterance of such a thing, but instead, Bilbo felt nothing but a sense of calmness settle inside him.

He scarcely had time to contemplate it, however, as Bofur pulled him into a tight embrace that lifted his feet from the ground. Normally, he would protest, having never fully become accustomed to the dwarves tactile nature, but with the sudden relief he had found, and the way Bofur whispered his name with such fondness, he could do nothing else but embrace his friend back.

Eventually, they both managed to gather themselves, and Bofur offered him a cup of tea, with a teasing grin on his lips.  Bilbo waved him off, knowing they both needed something stronger, and nearly begged for a pint of Oin’s homebrew. Bofur happily poured them each a tankard full, while they sat around the stone table in his kitchen.

When Bofur asked, Bilbo found himself telling the dwarf about growing up in the Shire, more open than he had ever been before.  He spoke of his mother’s garden that was the envy of all of Hobbiton, and his father’s books that should have been. He lamented the overbearing gossip that ruled over everyday life as nearly the only source of entertainment. They laughed as he told him about his sad and disastrous courting attempts. And once he’d finished his first pint, he found himself telling Bofur of the widows who lived outside of Bree, and even of his friend, the Brandybuck boy, ran out of town and never to be seen again.

Bofur looked at him, soberly, and Bilbo quickly wiped a tear from his eye and tried to change the subject.

“Nori told me you were married,” Bilbo said, and instantly regretted it, but Bofur just nodded.

“Aye, I figured he would.”

Liquid courage burned a trail through his veins as Bilbo heard himself ask, “Would you tell me about him?”

His face flushed as Bofur’s eyebrows rose.

“Sorry, I mean, you don’t have to if it’s too painful. It was foolish of me to ask.”

Bofur just gave him a crooked smile. “It’s fine, Bilbo. You just surprised me. We rarely speak of our dead, you see. It’s just not done,” he teased, throwing Bilbo’s words back at him.

Bilbo blushed. “I didn’t know.” Was that why none of the others had brought up any male lovers during the quest? Had they died as well? _Thorin,_ he thought with a painful tug at his heart.

“Still, seeing as you’ve given me a pass for being so un-Hobbitish, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to be a little un-dwarvish as well.”

Bilbo gave him a watery smile that Bofur only waved off.

They sat in silence for a moment as Bilbo tried to compose himself, and Bofur tried to think of where to start.  “He was-,” he started once, but shook his head and took another drink.  

Bilbo was just ready to tell him it was fine when Bofur finally found his words.

“His name was Bali. His father and mine were friends when they were youngins and we just sort of carried on the tradition, I guess. Still, we got on pretty well. He liked to laugh and well,” his lips quirked up, “I liked to make him laugh.”

Bilbo smiled hesitantly, trying to encourage his friend. “So, even when you were young, you two,” he waved his hand vaguely, grimacing when he couldn’t even say the words.  

Bofur laughed. “No, no, we were just friends. Very close, but still just friends. I was around Kili’s age before I started to think of him as anything else really.” He paused before letting his gaze wander away. “It was his hair, I think, that I fell for first. It was so black, Bilbo,” he said, turn back to look at the hobbit. “Not just dark brown, but black as the darkest, deepest cavern.  I could lose myself staring at it like it was a newly opened cavern waiting to be explored.”   

He smirked, suddenly. “I’ve always had a miner’s heart, you see.”

Blinking, Bilbo’s smile grew. “That’s nearly poetry, Bofur.”

“Well,” Bofur chuckled, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck, “he could bring it out in me.  He was so smart, Bilbo,” he said, fondness oozing from his every word, “he was constantly coming up with ideas and changing things around to make them easier and better and he was always writing songs that half the mountain would be singing the next day.  Everyone loved him, truly. He would have them on their backs on the training ground, then taking them straight to the pub to buy ‘em a drink afterward. His family was from the backend like ours, but half the mountain knew his name.”

Bofur frowned, suddenly, looking away from Bilbo once more. “Then there was me. A nobody miner from a refugee family with my mother’s braids in my mud-colored hair.”

Bilbo opened his mouth, but Bofur waved him off.

“I’m not digging for compliments, that’s just the way it was.  Compared to him, I was certainly nothing special.” Bofur laughed as Bilbo pursed his lips. “Not to mention, I knew he didn’t see me as anything but a good friend, and I didn’t say or do anything that would change that. But at night,” he said, as his voice became softer, “I would dream about putting my mother’s braids into that gorgeous hair.  

“It was daft, really. We barely had enough money to keep food on the table, let alone for me to buy the beads that would be good enough for him. Still, I couldn’t help myself. I knew better, but this foolish old miner’s heart of mine. The one that always wants to dig deeper and deeper, never satisfied, it couldn’t let him go.”

Bilbo clutched onto his empty mug, sadness and many unnamed feelings trying to crawl from his chest to his throat.  His experiences with courting had been half-hearted at best. Most of them involved nothing but a picnic or tea invite to a pretty young thing just to get their mother’s off his back. There had been a few girls he thought fair or smart or both, but no one that he would dream about.

No one he had ever pined for.  

He thought he couldn’t feel even more foolish for his bigoted words earlier, but he felt a wave of shame wash over him.  The harsh things he’d heard all his life from old gaffers around a pint were beyond cruel compared to the pure emotion in Bofur’s words.  

“We started to drift a bit the older we got. I always said it was my fault. We were both busy, with growing up and starting to work on our crafts, but I think I was distancing myself from him a bit unconsciously. Either way, we probably hadn’t had a proper conversation in over a year, when it happened.”

Bofur titled his head, lost in the memory. “I was a little older then Fili, I believe.  Was heading home from a late night when I ran into a few lads I’d been in a training class with. They were pretty deep under, if you catch my drift,” he said while making a motion of tipping a pint glass back, and Bilbo nodded.

“I was tired, and they started in with the same things they’d all teased me about when I was young. ‘Bout my hair and braids, and what not. They’d never understand that I wasn’t ‘shamed to carry ma’s braids, rock heads that they were.  Some dwarves treat being different like it’s a crime, y’know.”

Bilbo nodded, frowning. He didn’t quite understand about the braids, but he understand bullying well enough and he definitely understood being different.

“So, there am I.  Just off shift, tired down to my bones, and wondering if I’m gonna have to take my pail upside both their drunken heads just to get them to leave off so I can sleep when Bali comes around the corner. It’s not something I wanted him to see, you can imagine. Covered in dust from head to toe, getting handled about by a bunch of rock heads slurring about how my parents must’ve done it under the sun to have a dwarf with dirt-colored hair.”

“Bofur,” Bilbo whispered, but the dwarf waved him off again.

“Bali stomps up to them, ‘cause that’s just how he was. It wasn’t just ‘cause it was me, he would’ve done it for any dwarf, you see. But he asks them, all friendly like, ‘What’s going here, friends?’  His eyes, though, they were cold as ice. As drunk as those two were, even they noticed it and scuttled out there so fast you’d think their ma was calling ‘em.” Bofur smirked. “They may not have been the brightest, but Bali’s fists had a reputation all their own and they didn’t want to tangle with them.

“I was mortified, of course. Would have taken a beating rather than have him see that, but Bali didn’t care. He mothered me all over to make sure I was okay,” he said, so fondly. “Asked if he needed to track those lads down and take them down a peg or two, but I was just trying to get away so I could get home and start trying to forget everything as soon as possible.”

Bofur paused, tucking his chin down, and Bilbo was started to see a red tint dusting the dwarf’s already bright cheeks. “Then that big ol’ sap started going on about my hair. ‘They shouldn’t say that about your hair,’ he said. I laughed it off, said something about how it isn’t like their wrong, but he wouldn’t have it. ‘You idiot,’ he said, ‘you know you’ve got the prettiest hair in the whole mountain.’”

His blush grew, and Bilbo’s heart ached.

“He just goes and says something like that, as if it’s totally natural,” he said with a laugh, gesturing with his hands now as he continued. “Now, I was just a lad then, not the smooth talking dwarf you know now,” he added with a wink, “so I just sat there turning as red as a ruby asking him if he’d taken a blow to the head down at the training grounds.

“But he just cuffs me upside the head. I can’t really do justice to what he said, Bilbo - he was a poet like you - but he goes on about my hair being like the chocolate candies his mom gave us as youngins and how he’d always envied it. Can you believe it? Bali Gorgeouslocks, with hair that half the mountain wanted to put a braid into envied _me_. I’m ashamed to say I couldn’t get a word out after that, all good and flustered as he got me, but he just throws his arm around my shoulders and walks me on home just like when we were lads not even old enough to pick up an axe.”

Bilbo smiled so brightly he felt his cheeks straining, filling up their cups while Bofur tried to calm down his own mighty grin.

“It took me a week to gather up the courage to ask Bifur to carve me a wooden bead to give him,” he said, taking a sip of his drink. “And another week to get up the courage to ask him. I thought for sure he’d laugh at me, but he just cursed about how he wished he’d had the courage to ask me first. We exchanged braids that very night,” he finished hiding his face slightly behind his drink.  

Bilbo beamed at him, though something in him ached, knowing that that wasn’t the end of the story.  Bofur’s husband had died, and in his grief, he had joined the Company in what was most likely a suicide mission.  

“Thank you, Bilbo,” Bofur said suddenly, startling the hobbit.

“Thank me? Whatever for?”

Bofur’s smile went crooked. “I haven’t really got to talk about him since it happened.  It was nice, to think about him for a bit.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, nursing their drinks and trying not to let the alcohol running through their veins send them both into embarrassing tears. Bilbo had so many questions he wanted to ask. Why didn’t dwarves speak of their dead? What were their weddings like? And what was all this importance on braids and hair, anyway?

This wasn’t the time for that, though.

“That’s what friends are for,” Bilbo offered, and blushed at the grin he received in return.

Bilbo filled their drinks again and motioned for Bofur to keep talking about Bali as much as he would like, and the dwarf did.  He stayed away from the grander stories but gushed about the little things. Like, the small gifts they would leave each other for the other to find (one of which was a fur lined hat hidden under Bofur’s pillow), or their long-standing argument about the correct way to sharpen a blade (“It could get quite passionate, let me tell you.”).

The closest he came to speaking about their wedding was the detailed story of Bali’s younger sister, Nali.

“If it were up to Bali and me, we’d have paid some scribe to have the whole thing written up quick as you like, before the both of us headed on to work.  Nali wasn’t having it, though.  She planned the whole thing out.”

“That’s good,” Bilbo replied, his voice slurring a bit. “It’s good to have those memories.”

Bofur nodded, smiling shyly. “Yeah.”

Suddenly, Bilbo let out loud, dramatic sigh and collapsed back in his chair. “Oh, Bofur, to have experienced love like you have. I’m so terribly jealous.”

“Your day’ll come,” Bofur chuckled, but Bilbo just shook his head violently.

“Nope, sadly, my time has passed for such a thing. It seems I’m meant to spend the rest of my days in sad bachelor-hood, living off beautiful romantic stories such as yours.”

There was a pronounced silence, and Bilbo lifted his head to find Bofur giving him a strange look. Almost as if the dwarf was doing his best not to make an expression.

“Are you saying,” Bofur drawled, “if someone came along you wouldn’t give it a shot?”

Bilbo huffed. “Of course I would, but I’m saying it’s not likely.  I can’t imagine I’ll be running into any hobbit lasses this side of the Misty Mountains anytime soon.”

It took a moment for Bilbo to realize that he’d basically admitted he had no plans of going back to the Shire. He hadn’t really even admitted it to himself yet, but here he’d basically said it out loud, and from Bofur’s wide-eyed stare he seemed to have picked up on that as well. Taking a long drink to hide his blush, Bilbo waited for Bofur’s teasing to begin.

However, the dwarf just smiled and nudged him with his shoulder.

“You know, Bilbo,” Bofur mused, “you don’t necessarily have to find some hobbit lass.”

“What,” Bilbo giggled. “Do you think one is likely to find me, instead?”

Bofur snorted. “No, you knob. I’m saying you don’t have to confine yourself to just hobbit lasses.”

Ice ran through Bilbo’s veins once more, at Bofur’s words, just as it had when Nori had questioned him in the public house.  While he was more than ready to accept his dwarven friends for their preferences, surely Bofur wouldn’t try to suggest the Bilbo would- that Bilbo would with another -

“I mean, in a few weeks, there will be plenty of pretty, dwarrowdams barreling through the front doors,” Bofur teased, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Bilbo let out a sharp, slightly hysterical, bark of a laugh that had Bofur narrowing his eyes at him. He forced a smile, quickly.

“Oh, please, my friend. I’ve heard stories of your dams, and I doubt any of them would be impressed with a weak, little beardless fellow such as myself.”

Bofur shrugged. “You never know, Bilbo. Some people like something a little different.  Not to mention,” he added sternly, “you’re selling yourself short again. You’re one of the company. You crossed half of Middle Earth, riddled a dragon, fought orcs and goblins, and helped reclaim one of the greatest dwarrow kingdoms of our time! Any dam with a lick of sense will probably be trying to court you.”

A blush spilled across Bilbo’s face, as he shook his head violently.  

Taking pity on his friend, Bofur finally moved away from teasing the hobbit and started bringing up the mountain’s preparations for the caravans that would be arriving, something he knew Bilbo had been involved in planning.  

They spent most of the night this way. Drinking together, telling stories and reinforcing the friendship that Bilbo had so nearly destroyed that afternoon.

Still, even as Bilbo spoke, and listened, and laughed, he couldn’t quite get Bofur saying, ‘you don’t have to confine yourself to hobbit lasses’ out of his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Bilbo. 
> 
>  
> 
> For anyone interested, Nali and her brother Bali were characters I played in a DND campaign, once. I was pumped to bring their names back to life.
> 
> Also, I hope I didn't butcher Bofur's accent too horribly. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, and once again, thank you to all the lovely comments!


	3. Confusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wild King is spotted, and more gifts are given.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little shorter chapter this time, but I'm trying to keep to at least a reasonable update schedule. Hopefully, it's still enjoyable!

> The lovely [piece of art](http://consortofkings.tumblr.com/post/154790573616/this-is-the-lovely-lovely-lovely-art-i) I commissioned from [ceilo-chii](http://cielo-chii.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. I recommend you check out the art, and then also visit them and coo over how adorable the rest of their art is!!

It was a slow trek back to his own room the next morning. Bilbo’s head was pounding with each step, and he had to stop multiple times as his nauseous stomach threatened to rise up and empty itself.  As much he’d enjoyed himself, and he had, it had been a mistake to drink so heavily on an empty stomach, and he was paying it for it now.  

After a long comfortable nap in his own bed, and many, many glasses of crisp cold water delivered straight to his rooms from the lovely underground springs scattered throughout the mountain, Bilbo was going to make himself the largest fry up he’d ever had in his life. First, however, he had to make it back to his rooms.  

The thought of the food was too much for his stomach at the moment, however, and he had to stop once more, leaning against the wall and waiting for it to settle.  He had woken up on Bofur’s couch, freezing, despite the large afghan thrown over him, but his walk had left his skin burning and the cold stone felt wonderful against his skin.  He slumped further and further into the wall and he felt his eyes drooping involuntarily.

He would just rest here a moment, he told himself, feeling his breath evening out. Just for a tiny moment then he would-

“Bilbo?”

He jerked awake, mortified that he had nearly fallen asleep leaning against the corridor wall, right in front of Thorin’s door. His mortification doubled when he discovered the identity of the dwarf who was speaking to him.

“Oh, Thorin. I’m so dreadfully sorry,” Bilbo rambled, reaching up with his hand to make sure he hadn’t started drooling on himself.

“What are you doing?”

The King was standing in front of his door wearing a simple sleeveless tunic and loose trousers with his sword on his hip and an axe strapped to his back. Probably heading to the training grounds to spar with Dwalin, he thought. That would definitely explain why Bilbo hadn’t been seeing him recently, Bilbo thought happily, if he was getting up this early every day to go train.  

He had ventured that way a few times over the last few weeks hoping to ‘accidently’ run into Thorin, but never this early for sure.  If it was a normal day Bilbo would still be tucked into bed still fighting with himself about whether to go start the kettle or just burrow further into the blankets.

Of course, he would run into Thorin now, while he looked pale as a ghost and fighting an ongoing battle not to be sick all over the floor right in front of him.

“Just resting for a moment,” Bilbo answered weakly, wincing at the absurdity of his own answer.

“Are you ill?” Thorin asked, worry thick in his voice as he took a step forward.

“Oh no,” Bilbo reassured quickly, before groaning as his head gave another painful throb.

Thorin took another step forward.

Bilbo gave a weak chuckle. “Or rather, yes, but I’m afraid it was an illness of my own making.”

Understanding slowly dawned on Thorin’s face, his shoulders relaxed instantly and for the first time in weeks Bilbo got to see the King smile.

“I see. Has the local homebrew finally been able to defeat our Hobbit?” Thorin teased, and something gripped tightly in Bilbo’s chest at hearing it.  He truly had missed his friend.

“Hush, you troublesome dwarf.  You know we hobbits have iron stomachs, I just didn’t eat enough yesterday and was ill prepared. I can still drink you and your kinsman under the table any day, as you are well aware!”

Thorin chuckled. “Of course.  Let the tolerance of hobbits never be in question.”

“Quite right.  I’ll have know when I left Bofur he was bent over his toilet whispering what I’m sure where prayers.”

Thorin frowned. “Bofur?”

Bilbo hesitated, confused at the frown on Thorin’s face, before explaining. “Ah yes, we made quite a night of it, I’m embarrassed to say. You would’ve thought we were a bunch of lads at a coming of age party instead of two full grown-”

“You spent the night there?” Thorin interrupted, his eyes narrowing.

Bilbo was the one frowning now.  He could hear the sudden edge that had appeared in Thorin’s voice, but in his foggy state, he couldn’t begin to comprehend why.  

“Well, yes. Is that a problem?” he asked, though it came out far more snappish than he meant it to.

Thorin narrowed his eyes suddenly, and Bilbo’s stomach once again threatened to turn over. “Of course not, Master Baggins. I beg your pardon, I have kept you long enough,” he snapped, and for the second time that month Bilbo had to watch him turn on his heel and march away.

Rubbing his fingers over his forehead, Bilbo tried to even begin to wonder what he could have said to make Thorin upset. He supposed that Thorin could have been currently cross with Bofur, but that surely had nothing to do with Bilbo.

Annoyance started to bubble in his stomach at the King.  The first time he had seen him in weeks, after searching day or night for him, and the ridiculous dwarf felt the need to let his anger out on Bilbo? And to have him storm off, again, as if Bilbo had done him ill?  

He stewed on it while he entered his rooms and trudged slowly to his door, becoming crosser and crosser, and by the time he was crawling into bed he was in a full blown huff.

Fine, he thought, as he snuggled down under the many blankets and furs that covered his bed, soaking in the warmth. Thorin obviously didn’t seem to mind Bilbo’s absence in his life, so Bilbo would just have to have to accept it.

With that last miserable thought settling like a stone in his gut, Bilbo finally succumbed to some much-needed sleep.

It had been nearly a week since his confrontation with Thorin in the hallway and he had kept his promise to no longer seek out the dwarf. When he wasn’t reading over documents with Balin, or adding up figures with Gloin, he kept to his rooms. He was still quite cross with the King, and whenever he began to waver he would remember that the times he had sought out Bofur for an explanation and companionship he had found the other dwarf was actively avoiding him as well.  

The members of the company he had been in contact with had been more than glad to offer up a story of a minor disagreement between Bofur and the King, but Bilbo was still not satisfied. And this still could not explain the King’s absence before that morning, nor why he felt the need to take his anger out on Bilbo.

So, Bilbo sat in his gifted rooms and stewed. How could Thorin have cared so deeply for his friend to gift him these gorgeous quarters and then care so little to spend time in his presence?

The knock he received at his door one night, however, brought him out of his contemplation and set him to war inside himself.

The knock, steady and fierce on his door, came at the same time Thorin had usually visited him in his original quarters for their nightcaps. While he knew his aggravation had nowhere near waned enough that he was ready to forgive the king, he knew that if anyone else stepped through the door he would be filled with disappointment.

Another series of knocks finally stirred him from his warring emotions, and gave him the courage to stand from where he was slumped in his lounge chair and shout, “Come in.”

As he had guessed, when it was Nori and Ori who stumbled in through the door, disappointment filled him. Still, he was far too well-bred to do anything but smile and welcome them in.

“Nori! Ori! So good to see you,” he cheered, waving them towards the couch and nodding as they returned his greetings.

Nori was grinning brightly, but he couldn’t help but notice that Ori’s smile was for more timid.  Bilbo smiled apprehensively at them both as they sat down.  

“Let me get us some tea,” he said after they’d exchanged their greetings, Ori’s soft ‘Thank you, Mr. Baggins,’ trailing behind him.  

The pot was boiling, and he was just pouring it into their cups when he heard the whispers from his sitting room.

“But you’re interfering,” Ori whined.

“Someone’s gotta, lad.  It’s getting ridiculous. Poor Bofur’s been hiding down in the mines so long I’m afraid he’ll forget what the sun looks like.”

“Yes, but-” Ori started again, but Nori shushed him. Bilbo could still hear them whispering furiously, but he could no longer make out their words.

Frowning, he gathered up the sugar and cream to add to his tray of cups and made his way back into the sitting room.  Bilbo sat back in his chair, facing the two brothers on his couch, and crossed his legs.  He waited patiently for them to fix their drinks to their liking, as his manners dictated before he began to demand answers that would finally expose the truth of this ridiculous feud.

However, his convictions flew out the window when he noticed the thick book sitting in Ori’s lap.

“Oh, what is this?” Bilbo asked, pointing towards the book excitedly. Bilbo had quite the collection of Elvish books recovered from the library that he had slowly been translating, and he would be more than glad to add another one.

“That is why we’re here, Mr. Baggins,” Nori said around a wide grin.

Ori shot a look at his brother that Bilbo couldn’t quite interpret, but finally turned to smile at Bilbo. He sat down his tea before gripping the book reverently.

“It’s a book I’ve been translating to Westeron, Mr. Bilbo,” Ori told him. “His Majesty wanted to give it to you with your rooms, but I wasn’t quite finished, yet.”

Bilbo sucked in a breath, all thoughts of Bofur wiped away.  It was a dwarven book, then. Bilbo had been devastated when he had realized that the majority of the books in the library had been written in Khudzul, and even though the dwarves had become more and more lax with speaking it around the hobbit, or even dropping hints to one day teach him, the writings had remained beyond his grasp for now. It had been quite painful for Bilbo, knowing all that knowledge was so close, yet out of his grasp.

“Oh, Ori,” he whispered, as the young dwarf handed it over to him.

The binding was gorgeous. Rich, red leather and white lacings on the side.  Silver ink embossed letters on the front with large Khudzul letters, and below them, in Westeron it read, ‘A Dwarven Companion.’

“The translation of the title is not exact, but it was the closest I could come to,” Ori told him quickly, obviously excited by Bilbo’s reverence of the book. “It has never been translated to Westeron before so I had to do it on my own,” he added with a modest blush.

“It’s not just any book, lad,” Nori told him, bringing Bilbo’s attention away from stroking the book lovingly. “This is the first book every young dwarrow receives.”

“It’s our histories and our customs,” Ori jumped in to explain, grinning at the astonished look on Bilbo’s face.  “This is the book we use to teach our children their letters. They are usually passed down through families, and the first few pages almost always contain family trees.”

“And Thorin wanted me to have this?” Bilbo asked, a sudden raspiness to his voice.

Nori smirked and nodded. “Open it up.”

Bilbo did, slowly and carefully, as if it was a century old and not so brand new the ink had probably only just stopped drying. As Ori had said, the back of the cover started off with a family tree, that was so long and winding it continued on through the first few pages.

It began with Durin the First.

Tears welled up quickly in Bilbo’s eyes, blurring his vision enough that he had to wipe his eyes clean before trailing his finger down the long list of Durin’s until he finally came to rest at the end. Thorin the Second’s name sat snugly in the middle of Dis and Frerin’s, while Fili and Kili’s name’s branched out below them.  

“It was one of the first things we found when we were able to finally enter His Majesty’s old chambers,” Ori told him, his voice a whisper and Bilbo could barely hear him as he traced Thorin’s name over and over again. “He immediately asked me to start working on a translation.”

This was the translation of Thorin’s copy of the book.

Ori launched into an explanation of the different contents of the book and his troubles in finding the exact translations, but Bilbo barely heard a word, using the time to gather himself.  To Bilbo’s eternal relief, Nori finally gathered his younger brother up and gave their farewells.

Bilbo followed them to the door, laying praise after praise on Ori for his hard work until the younger dwarf’s face was flushed with joy.

They were barely out the door before Bilbo was rushing to fix himself a new cup of tea, his old one long cold.  Once he was settled into his chair with his cup, he grabbed the book and opened it up.  He felt something bubbling up in his throat when he glanced over the front once more.

With the way Hobbit family trees crisscrossed and looped around so wildly, as most families were so large, it was nearly required to have a good grasp on genealogy, though it had always been a particular passion of Bilbo’s. Considering he was a member of at least one of the largest families in the Shire, and the Bagginses were not small either, he had spent a good amount of his life pouring over charts just like these.

This wasn’t just any genealogical record, though. This was the line of Durin the Deathless, the royal line of the Longbeards, the Kings of Moria and Erebor. Arguably the most famous line of Dwarves alive, and Bilbo had it in his own hands for his own perusal.

It was a kingly gift, he thought with a watery smile.

He wondered if Thorin knew the amount that Bilbo would treasure it. Bilbo had not been shy about speaking of his interests and passions amongst his friends, but it was hard to imagine his friend,  especially after his recent actions, would want to honor Bilbo so much. Knowing, as well, how fiercely the dwarves protected their secrets made the gift even more extraordinary.

It took a moment for Bilbo to realize his finger was once again tracing over Thorin’s name, and he fiercely shook his head. He wiped his eyes once more and finally began to read through the first chapter.

It began, unsurprisingly, with their creation. Bilbo smiled to himself as he spent the rest of the night reading about Aluë - or Mahal in Khudzul as Ori’s small note noted - and how he fought Ilúvatar to bring life to his children. He read of Durin the Deathless who awoke alone inside a mountain and traveled until he came up the Mirrormere upon the slopes of Khazad-dûm and founded the great dwarven city.

He read through the night until his candle burnt down to nothing, and he finally forced himself to bed.


	4. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Families are reunited, and some explanations are given.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops. It's been quite a while on this thing, but here we are. Let's see if it gets finished!

The pounding of drums echoed off the walls and straight into his ears, and Bilbo resisted the urge to cover them with his hands. This was a great celebration for the Dwarrows of Erebor, the arrival of the first caravan from Ered Luin, and Bilbo tried not to begrudge them their need to celebrate.  Still, the drums had been pounding for hours, at a slow and steady beat, and Bilbo’s sensitive ears were struggling not to ache.

“Shouldn’t be long now,” Balin said from his right, sharing a look with Bilbo that told him his discomfort had not gone unnoticed.

“Mr. Bilbo!” Ori said suddenly, having pushed the crowd to stand at Bilbo’s left, Dori following behind him.

Bilbo gave him a warm smile, moving closer to Balin to give them some room.

The entrance way had slowly been filling up since the moment the raven had arrived from Dale announcing their arrival, and now it was overflowing. The company stood in front, Thorin, and his nephews before them in all their finest splendor, while the dwarves from the Iron Hills that had remained padded out the rest of the grand room. The men had long made their way to Dale as soon as the snow had begun to recede, and if there were any left in the mountain Bilbo could not spot them in the crowd.

“Ori, how have you been?”

“Just fine, Mr. Bilbo. You haven’t been to the library in a while, I began to fear you’d been lost down one of the mines!”

Bilbo laughed. “Oh no, I’m sorry my friend to have worried you. I’m afraid I’ve been spending most of my time with that lovely book you gave me.”

Ori’s eyes widened and he gave a modest smile. “You’re still enjoying it, then?”

“Oh, most definitely.”

He wasn’t lying either. Besides when he was forced to leave to track down a meal, or for his meetings with Balin to help make plans for the caravan supplies once they arrived, Bilbo had spent the rest of his free time reading over his book.

It wasn’t so much an informational book, as he had first thought when he began, but a storybook. Each chapter was a different tale that was meant to impart either knowledge or a certain moral to the reader. His favorite so far had been the story of three sisters Nola, Bola, and Lola as they learned about braiding. Bilbo had known that his dwarves attached meaning to their braids, but never had he realized how many different types of meanings there were.  There weren’t only family braids that you put in at your coming of age, but also betrothal braids to be worn during courting, and ones to wear when the courting was complete. There were even braids to show your love of your craft, with beads to match that showed off the level of your skill. It seemed that Dwarrows used their hair the same way Hobbit’s used calling cards.

“Your notes have been invaluable,” Bilbo told Ori, and the dwarf blushed as bright as the tomatoes that had once grown in Bilbo’s garden.

That wasn’t an exaggeration, either. The tale of young Gordo, who followed his father around the forge and learned the basics of smithing would have flown mostly over Bilbo’s head without Ori’s comprehensive scribbles in the margins to help him along.  

“Where's your brother?” Bilbo asked, not noticing the presence of a certain pointy-haired dwarf.

Ori looked away for a second, before blushing. “He had something to take care of.”

Bilbo frowned.

Seeing the look, Ori rushed to reassure him. “It’s nothing bad, Mr. Bilbo, I promise. Nori just needed to do something when no one was around.” When Bilbo’s frown only deepened, Ori blushed even deeper.

“It’s, ah, it’s not as it sounds.  He’s, er,” Ori frowned before he added quickly, “he’s finishing his gift for Yada.” He ended his sentence with almost a question as if he was asking Bilbo something.

“Oh?” Bilbo asked, confused but greatly interested. “Is Yada someone who's arriving today? ”

Ori groaned, and Bilbo frowned even deeper, but the dwarf ignored him, looking out the side of his eyes to see if Dori was paying any attention to them, but his older brother seemed to have immediately launched into conversation with an Iron Hill dwarf that was standing nearby.

Ori took a deep breath, looked at the ceiling, seemed to nod to himself, and then met Bilbo’s eyes. “Mr. Bilbo, have you had a chance yet to read the story of Durin the Third, yet?

Bilbo slowly shook his head, confused by the seemingly nonsensical turn. “No, not yet.”

Ori nodded. “Oh, well I hope you get the chance soon.  It’s one of my favorites.” Ori’s tone was light, conversational, but there was an intensity to his eyes that said he was trying to impart a great meaning to his words.  “It’s the story of Durin’s courting of Yada the Firebringer. It’s a greatly treasured story for dwarves, and the actions of Durin the Third are what we have used for centuries as the basis for our courting traditions.”

Bilbo felt his eyes widen, and his eyebrows raise, but Ori just continued.

“You see, Mr. Bilbo, we,” Ori paused again, his eyes flickering behind Bilbo’s head. Bilbo turned quickly to see Balin, who was standing quite close, but apparently in a good-natured conversation with his brother. Bilbo turned back when Ori started talking once more but in an even lower whisper. “We hold our courting traditions in the highest regard.  It’s generally agreed upon that while two dwarrows are courting, no one will speak of it in any way, lest it jinx it.”

Bilbo stared at Ori.

Of all the traditions of dwarves that differed from his own, this had to be the one to throw him for the greatest loop. It was unthinkable to a hobbit, for sure.

“I take it it’s different in the Shire?” Ori pried gently, giving him a small smile.

Bilbo nodded fiercely. “Oh gosh, yes. I’d say the only thing more readily discussed there is the weather, and even then they are close in the running. There is not a daily tea time that passes in the Shire without talking about who danced more with at the festival, or who gave who a flower after a leisurely stroll.”

“Men are much the same, though I don’t know of elves,” Ori told him, a light blush tinging his cheeks as his voice grew quieter and quieter, and Bilbo had to lean closer to hear him.

“The story of Durin and Yada is the greatest love story of our people’s, Mr. Bilbo. But as you’ll see when you read the story, there was so much outside pressure from their families and friends and everyone around them that it nearly drove them apart. It’s so sad to think that they were nearly kept apart by anyone’s feelings other than their own.  So now we stay out of it, and show our support through our silence.” Ori was still whispering, but his voice was losing some of its timidity and was traveling more into the territory what Bilbo fondly called his ‘lecture voice.’

“When someone does, they are seen as wishing bad luck on the pair. Though if one learns of some measure of bad faith in a part of the courting pair, they are of course encouraged to speak up, but it’s very, very rare, and only happens on the gravest of occasions.  Most dwarves would rather be left to make a bad decision at their own digression than to find out that their loved ones did not think them capable of making their own judgments.”

Bilbo nodded agreeably, though he felt that line of thought the height of silliness. Still, he would never again be surprised by the stubbornness of dwarves.

“So, if someone is courting, you don’t speak about it all? Even in private where they can’t hear?”

Ori shook his head. “Not unless you wish the curse the courting pair. If asked, they will only ever say that they are making a gift for Yada.” Ori paused, his eyes turning up once more to meet Bilbo’s intently.

It took a moment, before Bilbo beamed down at Ori, who gave him a nervous smile back.

Nori was courting someone. Or about to start courting someone. Either way, he was - unless Bilbo had greatly misunderstood - currently working on some sort of courting gift. That was wonderful. He was so happy for his friend that his cheeks hurt from the smile he was currently sporting.

His need to know more was overwhelming. There was very little he wouldn’t have given up at that moment to just know a little more, mostly about the identity of the recipient of his light-fingered friend’s gift, but he had listened to Ori’s words and saw the timid look in his eyes, and realized exactly what was expected of him now.

“What a lovely story, Ori. Thank you for telling me, and I can’t wait to read it.”

Ori beamed up at him, and Bilbo couldn’t help but feel like he passed some test. Still, anything that brought such a cheer to his friend’s face was worth it.

“Won’t he miss the arrival of your family, though?” Bilbo asked suddenly.

Ori ducked his head for a moment, before smiling sadly at Bilbo. “I’m afraid it’s just the three of us.”

“Well, as I doubt there will be any hobbit’s traveling with the caravan then I believe you are stuck here with me. Which is good because I would hate to be here alone.”

After a moment, Ori’s smile turned into a true one. “I’d be glad to stand with you, Mr. Bilbo.”

“As would I, if you’d only budge over,” said a voice suddenly from behind them, and Bilbo and Ori both startled.  Bilbo whipped his head around.

“Bofur,” he cheered, pulling his friend into a hug. “I’m so glad to see you!”

Bofur patted him on the back, before slowly pulling away, shooting glances to the front of the line where Bilbo knew Thorin stood.

Bilbo pursed his lips. He had still not spoken to Thorin since the morning they had snapped at each other, and the last week he had kept his promise to himself to not go looking for the King.  His aggravation with the dwarf had lessened with the appreciation of his book but was constantly rekindled when he was reminded of Bofur’s absence.

“Oh, surely this madness has ended by now,” he grumbled, turning his head to look at Thorin, sucking in a breath when he met Thorin’s gaze. The dwarf was looking right at him, intently staring.

Squaring his shoulders, Bilbo pulled Bofur forward to stand beside him, never taking his eyes of Thorin. Bofur made a sound of protest, but Bilbo didn’t loosen his grip.

Waiting for the confrontation, Bilbo was surprised when Thorin just nodded. His eyebrows lowered before finally, his gaze dropped entirely, and he turned away to look forward.  He had looked, almost, _sad._

“What? ” Bilbo whispered, stunned, as Bofur groaned beside him.

“Here they come!” Balin suddenly announced, and the drums grew almost unbearably loud before they were drowned out by the loud cheering of the crowd.

Bilbo kept his eyes on Thorin though, only looking away when the King took a large step forward, and he finally noticed the large caravan that was filling up the entranceway.

There were many carts led by mules and ponies alike and so many dwarves.  More dwarves than Bilbo had likely seen in his life, for the moment he was able to put aside his confusion over the look in Thorin’s eyes and his strange behavior and just let himself bask in the companies happiness. His friends’ families’ were here, the future inhabitants of the Kingdom he’d fought to reclaim. The people who had been forced from their homes, and were finally able to return.

“Did you ever think we’d see the day?” Bofur said beside him, awe in his voice.

“Aye, laddie,” Balin said beside them, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes, before turning his head to look at the back of Thorin’s grand cloak. “I always knew.”

The drums went silent as the caravan came to a slow stop, having filled the entrance and Thorin took another step forward. He held his hands and boomed out a greeting in Khudzul.

The cheers were deafening, but Bilbo couldn’t take his eyes off of the King. He looked truly regal. In his finest clothes, his crown upon his head, his hair shined, and his braids capped with beads of silver and mithril. His eyes, brighter and bluer than Bilbo had ever seen them, as they swept over the gathering of his people in front of him.

Thorin began his speech welcoming the dwarves. It was a mixture of Westeron and Khudzul, so Bilbo only understood bits and pieces, but that didn’t really matter. The words blurred away and Bilbo could hear was the joy in Thorin’s voice. The excitement in his eyes as he stared out at his people. It was Thorin’s greatest dream, the one he’d spent a century dreaming of, come true.

One that nearly ended so many times.  In the dungeons of Mirkwood, surrounded by dragon fire, or as he lay bleeding out in the deep snow. Yet, here the King stood. Dressed in the armor of his forefathers, a glimmering crown on his brow and his people behind and before him.

Bilbo couldn’t have been prouder.

“Welcome to Erebor!” Thorin finished in Westron, lowering his arms and bowing his head.

The room exploded into cheers once more, Bilbo clapping fiercely along with them.

The cheers died down eventually, and a fierce looking dwarrowdam stepped forward out of the crowd.  She was dressed in leggings, and armor as fine as the men around her, and if Bilbo had not spent time around the one or two dams of the Iron Hills he would not have been able to distinguish her from the males. However, he now knew to look for the way her beard was not as full as her male counterparts, but fine and sharp, curving along her strong jaw.  

It wasn’t her long, black as night hair, or her royal bearing, that let Bilbo know her name before it was even spoken. It was her eyes. Bright and fierce as her son’s. As her brother’s.

“Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror,” she cried, thumping her fist on her chest. “‘Ere a year ago you left us in Ered Luin with a promise to secure our homeland and bring our people home. With only twelve dwarves you have crossed the length of Middle Earth, battled a dragon, and rid the world of the Orc scourge. You have avenged your grandfather and reclaimed our kingdom!” Cheers roared around her as tears pooled in the corner of her eyes. Tears, Bilbo knew were mirrored in her brother’s eyes.

“My King, we thank you,” she finished, thumping her chest once more before she bowed.  The rest of the dwarves behind her bowed as well, and Bilbo found himself tearing up as well.

“Dis, daughter of Thrain, son of Thror,” Thorin spoke, the emotion in his voice as clear as day.  “Welcome home.”

Dis stood straight once more, nodding at her brother, before throwing open her arms wide. “Now where are my boys!” she boomed, and the two dwarves who had been bouncing in place at Thorin’s side took off like a shot down from the platform and fell into her arms.

Scattered laughter and cheers broke out amongst all the dwarves and the Company took the break in formality as their own sign to rush into the crowd searching for their own families.  Dis slammed her forehead soundly into Fili’s, who had reached her first, before doing the same with Kili.  Even from where he stood, Bilbo could see the way her fingers gripped tightly into the backs of their tunics as they all three slowly slid to the floor in their embrace.

Thorin strode quickly forward, his cloak billowing behind him as dwarrows darted around him before he stopped just before his sister who was now weeping openly into Fili’s hair. As soon as she spotted him she turned furious, yelling at him in harsh Khudzul that Bilbo could hear all the way up on the platform. It didn’t seem to phase Thorin, however, who simply fell to his knees wrapped his arms around Fili and Kili, and gently laid his forehead against hers. She was still tearing into him, but Thorin never stopped smiling.

Bilbo’s hand crawled up his throat to cover his mouth and the sob that threatened to come out.

“Dwarrows have always been thought to be a cold people,” Ori said suddenly from beside Bilbo, obviously fighting back his own emotions, he and his brother the only dwarves left standing on the podium with Bilbo. “And we are to strangers. But I’ve always felt that dwarrows were the most passionate of the races.”

Bilbo could do nothing but nod in agreement, looking out amongst the many reunions.  There were dwarves stroking the walls of Erebor, tears in their eyes. Some of them openly sobbing on what had to be the memory of their homes and the lives lost so long ago.  

No one could see this and think of the dwarves as cold.

He finally tore his eyes away from the royal family, though it was difficult, to find his other friends.

Bofur and Bifur stood inside a swarm of children, all of them with shockingly red hair that resembled Bombur’s as they clambered over them. His brother stood beside them, being fussed over by a gorgeous dwarrowdam with hair the same shade as Bombur’s, though with far more curls, and with curves that would make any hobbit maiden green with envy before she finally pulled Bombur into a tight embrace.  

“That’s Sada, daughter of Tumba. Bombur’s wife,” Ori told him quietly from his side.

Bilbo gave him a grateful smile.  

“She’s very lovely.”

Ori nodded. “She’s considered the best chef in all of Ered Luin, as well, so she never had a want of suitors. It was quite a shock to the whole mountain when she showed up at Bombur’s door one day with a cart of pies.”

Chuckling to himself, Bilbo thought they made a lovely couple. From the deep embrace, they found themselves in, to the more concrete evidence of their large brood of children, it was obvious their union was a happy one.  And Bilbo could understand Bombur’s weight a little more now. If he was married to the finest chef in the Shire, he would’ve found himself with a considerably larger belly as well.

He was distracted when a tall dwarrowdam breaking through the gaggle of children surrounding the family. Bilbo’s eyes widened, surprised by the absolute fierceness of her. She reminded him of Dwalin, the side of her head shaved and covered in tattoos, the other side with jet black hair loose and swept over the side, with only one small braid capped off with a tiny bead.  She was dressed in full plated armor and he spied two large axes strapped to her back.

The group of red-headed children finally broke apart to let her through, and she leaped forward to pull Bofur into a bone-crushing hug that lifted him straight off the ground.   

Even as Ori named her, “Nali, daughter of Badan,” Bilbo had known from the way Bofur’s face had lit up when he saw her. It was Bofur’s sister-in-law, that he had spoken of so very fondly.

He was once again fighting back tears as he watched Bofur laugh cheerfully while being spun around in the arms of the grinning dam.

His gaze continued on watching Oin and Gloin, both of which were receiving amorous embraces of their own from two lovely dwarrowdams, while Ori rattled off their names.  A young dwarf stood beside Gloin, who Bilbo recognized instantly from the portrait he had been shown many times, rapidly speaking to his father while Gloin just patted his head and hugged him as close as he did his wife.

“Oh, they made it!” he heard Dori declare, and both Ori and Bilbo turned to follow his gaze.

Dwalin, followed quickly by Balin, were pushing their way through a group of the Ered Luin dwarves before they finally reached a dwarf standing next to a dark-skinned dwarrowdam holding a small babe in her arms.

Bilbo only had a moment to note that the dwarf had the same large nose he’d often heard the others teasing the sons of Fundin over before Dwalin was grabbing him by the shoulders and slamming their foreheads together. Balin skipped the dwarf completely, heading straight for the dam beside him, greeting her softly before holding out his arms to hold the child himself.

“Falin, son of Fundin,” Ori told him quickly, and Bilbo’s eyes shot to him in surprise. He didn’t realize that Balin and Dwalin had another brother. Like so many things, it seems, it had never come up. “He wanted to go on the quest quite badly, but Dwalin and Balin wanted him to stay so that he could carry on their name. They fought over it for weeks before Asha announced she was with child, and he gave in quite quickly after that,” Ori added with a small smile.  “We didn’t know if they would attempt the journey, with the child being so small but I’m glad they did.”

Dwalin and Balin had traded off, the older dwarf embracing his brother with a less violent headbutt than his own, while Dwalin stared down at the babe in awe, Asha standing close and showing him how to hold it properly.  

Bilbo was so full of joy he thought his heart might burst.  

Slowly the dwarves started to move about, greeting old friends instead of just their immediate family and slapping backs and smiling at everyone they recognized.  After a moment, he noticed Dwalin moving quickly towards the royal family. Kili and Fili and moved away from their mother, chattering away with a red-faced Gimli that suggested they were doing more teasing of the young dwarf than anything.

Dwalin reached Thorin’s side, still holding the small babe to his chest, and gently handed it over to the King, who held the child close to his chest, beaming down at it.

Bilbo’s fingers clenched tightly into the fabric of his burgundy jacket, his hand having suddenly traveled up to cover his heart that was suddenly, _painfully_ ** _,_** aching. Thorin was looking down the child so reverently, with such pure, unfiltered happiness. (A look he had only seen in Thorin’s eyes once before when Bilbo had unclenched his hand to show the small acorn lying in it.) He could imagine Dwalin whispering to him, “Look at your brand new little cousin, my King,” and Bilbo could imagine Thorin looking the same down at Kili and Fili when they freshly born, but none of that could explain the way Bilbo felt right now. It was as if he was standing on the edge of a cliff looking down at a fathomless bottom. He couldn't look away.

Ori coughed beside him, and Bilbo quickly looked over to see the younger dwarf giving him an understanding look. Bilbo was grateful that he didn’t look at him as if he was behaving strangely, but he was perturbed that while Ori seemed to understand, Bilbo himself did not.

“I think Mr. Balin is trying to get your attention.”

He was right, of course. Balin was standing at the base of the platform, waving at Bilbo, before pointing to the caravans where dwarves were lining up to start to unload the supplies.

“Yes, yes, of course. Right. I’d better get down there before they start just storing things haphazardly.” Bilbo waved Ori off, telling him to join in with his friends, but the young dwarf just followed along behind him.

“It’s quite alright, Mr. Bilbo I would love to help.”

Bilbo thanked him gratefully, and not just for the offer of help.  Of the entire company, Ori was probably the only dwarf who would let his minor freakout go by without comment, and he couldn’t thank him enough.

Luckily, Bilbo was going to have a few busy days ahead of him, assisting Balin with organizing the incoming supplies and preparing for the celebrations that would be happening over the next few nights. Hopefully, he would have very little time to obsess over the way Thorin’s smile had made his heart drop into his stomach. For the first time, he was grateful that Thorin was avoiding him, because if they were to speak, Bilbo wasn’t sure he could quite look him in the eye.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This story will mostly be about Bilbo's inner struggles, with a great deal of confusion about dwarven culture. There will be a bit of angst, but nothing too heart wrenching. 
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/consortofkings) if you want!


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